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All welcome.
indent It had been snowing for two days now. They had heard the terrible roar from the north, and Ahren, whom had seen his share of winter storms, understood what the beast was. Still, it was not his problem and not his prerogative. Whatever happened to that pack happened; he had no family there, no friends, and no reason to care. He didn’t consider that this was a cruel and selfish thought; he did not consider that a girl had lost her way and came very close to death. It wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t his problem.
indent So he walked down the street, eyes on his feet, aware of the falling snow but at the same time unaware. By taking on Laruku’s burden, it seemed he had adapted to his personality as well. Unable to change him, unable to do anything on his own, Ahren fell into himself. It was the pattern of addicts, addicts who would never admit they were addicts even if the drugs were still coursing through their veins. While he was no longer a junkie, no longer a constant user, it had been just two weeks. Even now, his arm itched and tingled and demanded the drug that he had been raised with.
indent Extraordinarily enough, it was not his drug addiction (though he would never call it that, oh no) that he was thinking of now. He was thinking of her again, and wondering, with the faint and faltering hope of a man who has had his heart broken before, if she was thinking of him.
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<3
He knew he needed to talk to his daughter and that putting things off would only make it more difficult when the inevitable happened. But what could he do when sorry couldn't even begin to explain the extent of his remorse? How could he be honest with her when he didn't even know the answers himself? Laruku knew that he wanted the best for her, for her to be safe and well cared for, but could he tell her that he loved her? That he did not regret her existence and that she was welcomed to stay if that's what she really wanted? She reminded him of all the mistakes that he had made and still continued to make; when would he ever be able to see past all of that and see her as a person like she deserved? There was no one to blame but himself, but even that didn't have much of an effect anymore. There were too many other things.
The porch steps were old and familiar, as was the rest of the house, though he couldn't bring himself to go in anymore. It was a silly barrier, but he kept it anyway; it was pointless though because he dwelled on it anyway. Leaning against the wooden poles that supported the overhanging roof, he stared out towards the white landscape. Pure and empty. Lonely. But if he had to be lonely, better the snow for company than anything else. It was quiet and impartial and was the only thing that still reminded him of better days. It had been a cold night under falling snow that he could have died happy and every day, he wished again that he had.
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indent No words could ever change what had been done. Ahren knew this as well as he knew that he would never see blue or yellow again. They were just things now, strange phrases no one could really explain. Perhaps the memories he had of the color were wrong, perhaps he was just mad, but everything seemed so beautiful if he pretended it was right. There were small things he held onto, and larger things he had to let go. She was never coming back. He had realized this long ago, and he hated himself for still loving her. She was gone, she was never coming back, Misery was right and Misery had always been right—
indent Stop it, a voice not unlike his own said coldly, barring those thoughts with an iron gate. The red-eyed man finally lifted his head and saw, with little surprise, that Laruku was on the porch. Ahren stopped in the snow, the flakes piling up on his thick hair, and for a long time said nothing. He couldn’t find the words to say.
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*sucks at life!*
Sometimes, words were all he had -- lost sentences that had transcended from lifetimes ago, that had originated from other people, other centuries, other worlds altogether. It was not so strange how easy it was to cling on to such meaningless sounds or letters scrawled over a page. Truth, no matter how subjective or deceptive it was, was always harder to accept than lies, borrowed, self-conceived or otherwise. And that was why circular things stayed circular because nothing ever changed. Words couldn't do it and nothing else ever would. Ahren was a mirror from the circus and showed him a distorted reflections. For all their coincidences and similarities, they were not the same.
Sorry hung on the tip of his tongue when he parted his maw to speak. It was the reflex, the permeating guilt, the ghost of a poor boy, and a thousand pardons no one deserved. She's not your responsibility, the hybrid said quietly, staring forward at the other. You shouldn't have to shoulder it. His tail twitched restlessly and he needed something to do with his hands, but there was nothing to touch or hold or tear. He had never cared much for the habit, but he made a note to go find or make some goddamn cigarettes later, even if he ended up bumming some.
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indent They were not the same, they would never be the same, but there was just too much of them in each other. He knew that as well as he knew that nothing that was said would change anything. Action was what won the day, and action could tear the world apart. He wanted to smile, to offer reassurance, but he couldn’t. He knew what Laruku had done was wrong, because he had done the same thing oh so long ago. That guilt was his guilt he saw, and perhaps this was perdition. “She can take care of herself,” he replied, voice not much louder. “She just wants her father. You took her in, so you have to accept that.”
indentHis eyes were sharp, waiting. He suspected that the other had been responsible, considering how Laruku treated the girl, but could not understand if it was her symbolism Laruku hated or himself.
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Hatred, like anger, was something he had grown weary of. They were easy things to toss around, easy things to believe in, but in the end, it took far too much energy to maintain the feelings and he found himself letting them go. Some would mark it as a sign of maturity, but letting go of some emotions only gave him more room for others. Perhaps that was where and why the schism had appeared in the first place; emotions were more volatile than intentions and easier to divide down the center. No one was good or evil, only varying ranges of neutrals, but moods and feelings could be selected and separated like colored marbles in probability bags.
She does want her father, he repeated blearily. There was a mirthless grin for a fraction of a second before melting away again, But if he's gone for good, I'd like to keep it that way. Ryoujoku was not dead in the fact that the laughter still echoed sometimes in the back of his head, but whatever the monster was seemed to have weakened enough that Laruku remained in control much more often than not these days. I'm not what she wants. In that sense, he wondered if it would really be better if the other had ended up the dominant creature after all? Except if Ryoujoku had remained that day, they would both be long dead.
Do you have any cigarettes? He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead with a sigh.
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indent Ahren moved forward, onto the porch. The snow in his fur was melting now, and yet he felt nothing. Teaching himself not to feel was something he had learned a long time ago. Without answering the question, his hands went to the pouch at his side and drew the hand-rolled tobacco. This, and a pack of matches, he passed to Laruku. Settling against the post, he began to roll one for himself. “He’s not her father,” Ahren reminded him. “Even if he was the one who started this thing, it’s still your blood in her.”
indent Shrugging lightly, he took the matches back from his friend and lit one. The flame set odd light onto his face, and was snuffed out with two shakes and tossed into the snow. Ahren drew a breath of smoke in and exhaled before speaking. “You just need to talk to her. That’s all they really want.” He spoke with the knowledge of a man who had walked that road before.
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Didn't see that you'd replied, lame.
Feeling was something he had tried to leave behind as well, but since that, he had also learned that it didn't help to cut anything away. It didn't help to ignore or forget or pretend that nothing ever was or had been. And he had realized a thousand times before that the simple answer was to accept it and move on, but knowing something never made it any easier and he had continued to shy away from the facts because it was the easy thing to do. And he still did it, knowing full well that it wasn't helping and sometimes even made things worse. In theory, accepting that nothing would ever get better would kill his expectations indefinitely, but it hadn't made him immune to anything.
He took the cigarette and lit it, squeezing the flaming head of the match between his fingers to kill the fire. The quick burn was worth the warmth. His and the demon's blood were the same, but he couldn't argue that without accepting the fact that he was the father after all. I know, he conceding, expelling two lungs' worth of smoke into the already grey winter air. But how do you tell someone that yes, it's true you never wanted them in the first place? The hybrid shrugged to himself, But I guess if she already hates me then I've got nothing else to lose.
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indent He could tell him everything to do, and the way things were supposed to be, and how they really were. Ahren knew the dismal truth of such situations. Maybe things could change with time, but in his secret heart the blonde knew such things were never possible. He hesitated, thinking over the words. Around them, the ghost-town was still and quiet, coated in white. Finally, he spoke. “You just say it,” he offered, face impassive and eyes dark.
indent Ahren knew. That road wasn’t a stranger to him.
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Truthfully, Laruku knew exactly what he needed to do and why -- maybe he always had, for everything. It was just a matter of actually doing it and doing it right, just as he knew he should in his head. But always, when the time came and the moments passed, he would fuck things up, he would say it wrong, and he would ruin everything. It seemed like a plausible enough explanation for why his life seemed to be built on stupid decisions and actions that he could tell were stupid from a mile away. Things clicked into place when he looked from a distance, but when he actually got there, it was another story entirely.
Why did you come back, really? he wondered on impulse, blowing another cloud into the cold winter air. You took your whole family and half a pack with you when you left. Seemed like you had a plan. What happened? It was honest curiosity mostly, but the need to throw the topic off of himself was obvious too. The hybrid had no expectations with the question; the past was always a touchy subject and maybe he shouldn't be intruding, but honestly, sometimes he just wished someone cared enough to wonder what the hell had happened to him. Then again, the last time anyone had, he had torn their ear off. Twice, even.
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indent There was something wrong with both of them. Ahren understood that as well as he understood that ever sickening feeling in his gut, the addiction and its reasoning, and that the end of the world could be any day now. He had never been suicidal, but he knew that just a little too much of that morphine and it would be over. Maybe that was why he was smiling, even though he barely felt himself doing it. “I did,” he offered, taking a deep breath of smoke. “Things went wrong. After Matinee left, I lost it. In the end, Mab told me to leave. She told me not to come back until I sorted myself out.” He had never told anyone, not Misery, not his children, that truth. It worried him, vaguely, that he trusted Laruku that much.
indent Folding his ears back slightly, the blonde breathed in smoke. “But I don’t need her anymore,” he said quietly, aware he had simply traded one addiction for another.
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He had forgotten that Ahren had had a mate; it was only strange because he knew he had a son wandering around the pack somewhere and it wasn't any child of Kaena's. Things went wrong. A thousand possibilities there and he found that he didn't even need an elaboration. The words, despite purposeful and utter vagueness, spoke volumes to him. And people left. It didn't matter if it was their own fault or the other's fault or fate's fault or anyone else's -- they left. They left. And they left behind things. Gaping holes, voids filled with loneliness and resent and hatred. Monsters festered in that darkness and grew, gnawing at the edges to expand the sickness and disease.
Are you sure? he wondered, the most quiet words so far. It was too easy to relate, too easy to remember, too easy to picture in his head the jumbled and spiraling mess. Too easy. I thought I didn't need him... anymore, he continued, looking down at nothing in the snow, cigarette temporarily forgotten between his fingers. I thought I didn't, and then he took over. His free hand reached up towards the jagged scar he had cut into his own head; it was rough to the touch and he wondered again if it would have worked if he had cut deeper.
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indent It was not the fact that his closest friend had just revealed his sexuality that got under Ahren’s skin. It was that fucking question. Are you sure? God no, he wasn’t fucking sure, no one was sure about anything anymore. Something heavy hit him in the chest, in the throat, and he couldn’t find any words. The expression on his face revealed nothing, but his eyes had gone so dark they might have changed color. Rising from the post, he turned and walked back out into the snow.
indent Are you sure?
indent His hands had begun to shake again.
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Maybe he should have realized the question was the line to be crossed. No one was ever sure, even the ones who claimed they were, so why did he feel so empty when Ahren walked away? He had never known that sexuality had been an issue for anyone and did not consider it to be offensive. Maybe it was just that he had seen too many people walk away from him before, physically, metaphorically. The borders were revolving doors and only he ever stayed in place. Not a single wolf that had been in the pack when he came wandering back years ago was still there. How many people had passed through since then? Walking away without a word. And he thought about why without any real focus. Maybe this, maybe that. Maybe he should have never placed so much value in the company -- hadn't he known not to get attached? Even when they were friends?
He finished his smoke, but the empty feeling didn't go away.
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